


tumblr fills

by ben_jaded



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-05-04 23:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded
Summary: fills for requests on tumblr





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> this hasn't been beta'd. errors are my own.
> 
> prompt: Is fingering a good prompt? I don't care which of them is doing it. Erik fingering himself while T'Challa's watching or T'Challa fingering Erik. Either works.

N'Jadaka thrashes against the bindings keeping his body taut, letting out a long drawn out moan low in his throat.

T’Challa lets his slick fingers glide along the crease of N'Jadaka’s ass, tracing the tight ring of muscle. He presses lightly, just barely catching on the rim.

N'Jadaka’s breathing is rough and uneven, his head twisted back, throat working as he swallows compulsively. 

Eyes trained on him, T’Challa slides the tip of his middle finger into him.  
N'Jadaka bites back moan, back arching in a long tense line, the heel of his right foot digging into T’Challa’s shoulder.

T’Challa presses his finger in, past the thick ring of muscle guarding N'Jadaka’s opening into the heat beyond. N'Jadaka shudders as T’Challa works his finger into him. 

“How many can you take?” T’Challa murmurs, fucking N’Jadaka slowly with one long, clever finger. 

“D-deeper,” N’Jadaka whines, hands tightening their grip on the bindings.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” T’Challa responds as he slides two fingers into him, deep and smooth. 

N'Jadaka watches him with hooded eyes, arches and rolls into the touch, groaning low in his throat.

“You take my fingers so beautifully, N'Jadaka,” T’Challa praises, relishing in the way N’Jadaka bucks his hips like he can’t restrain himself, fucking down onto his fingers. He stretches his fingers, spreads them against N'Jadaka’s slick walls just to feel the soft wet give of him.

“Oh fuck,” N'Jadaka groans as T'Challa rocks his fingers in and out. 

T'Challa leans forward, kisses him breathless, slides in a third.

N'Jadaka moans, whimpers as the slick fingers stretch him. 

T'Challa knows when he’s hit the other man’s prostate. “Oh fuck!” N'Jadaka keens, undulating on T'Challa’s fingers, “Right there!”

“Can you come like this, N'Jakada?” T'Challa asks hoarsely, eyes greedily taking in the sight in front of him. He presses and rubs until he has N'Jadaka wailing, begging.

The power to reduce N’Jadaka to a whimpering mess with just his fingers, it’s intoxicating. His touch did that. He wants to shake him apart, watch him as he’s slowly overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Come for me N'Jadaka,” he commands, fingers working furiously. 

N'Jadaka’s entire body quakes at the command.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Can I request tcherik bj?

“Oh fuck,” N'Jadaka groans as he struggles underneath T’Challa, bucking his hips up and arching his neck as T’Challa licks down his throat.

It feels good, bearing his weight down on something strong and straining, held taut by T’Challa’s strength. N'Jadaka can free himself if he really wants to. This thing between them is and has always been about choice.

T’Challa shifts his hips, leaking cock rubbing against N'Jadaka’s own. He rolls his hips, grinds against that hot flesh until he has N'Jadaka groaning. He sucks on the straining vein at N'Jadaka’s throat, hard enough to leave a bruise, mouths at N’Jadaka’s collarbone, teeth scraping bluntly. He kisses and licks his way down the line of N'Jadaka’s body, encouraged by the muffled moans escaping N'Jadaka’s kiss-swollen lips.

N'Jadaka groans as he nips at a dark nipple, traces his tongue around the pebbled shape of it. T’Challa rubs his beard along N'Jadaka’s scar ridden torso as he licks and sucks his way down to N'Jadaka’s groin.

T’Challa settles between N'Jadaka’s thighs, ghosts a breath over N'Jadaka’s cock, makes him whimper. He grabs hold of N'Jadaka’s thighs, closes his lips over the crown, tastes a mix of his own and N'Jadaka’s come. He sucks hard, tongues at the slit, feels N'Jadaka dig his heel unto his shoulder. He lightens up on the suction, traces his tongue at the underside of N'Jadaka’s cock until N'Jadaka begs for more. He hollows his cheeks, takes more of him in. He pins N'Jadaka’s thrusting hips with a forearm, licks and sucks until he has N'Jadaka swearing, thrusting his cock mindlessly into the heat of T’Challa’s mouth.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Pretty please I just want T'Challa eating Erik out.

T’Challa molds his chest to Erik’s back, sucks hard enough to leave a bruise on the back of his neck. He drags his mouth down the curve of Erik’s spine, lips tracing over smooth skin, tongue darting out to catch the beads of sweat he finds along the way.

He follows the curve of Erik’s spine down to his ass, sweeps his hands down the scar ridden skin of Erik’s side. He rests his hands on the twin mounds of Erik’s ass, kneading at the muscle there as he mouths at the crease, slowly dragging his tongue downwards. Erik groans, cants his hips backward as T’Challa pulls him open.

“You fucking tease,” Erik groans, fingers clenching at the sheets as T'Challa rubs his thumb back and forth over his rim. T’Challa slowly spreads him open, breathes against the puckered hole, watches it twitch for him. Erik moans, cants his hips back toward T'Challa’s face. “T’Challa, you better stop–”

T’Challa buries his face between those cheeks, laps with the flat of his tongue. Erik arches his back, his words turning into a sharp groan as T'Challa scrapes his teeth lightly at his rim.

T’Challa stiffens his tongue and presses into the tight opening of Erik’s body, dipping his tongue into that clenching heat, fighting the tightness of Erik’s rim. T’Challa takes his time to gradually work his way in deeper, lips and tongue working in synch to tease and caress.

Erik’s body unclenches for him, relaxes bit by bit as he licks and mouths at him, getting his hole slick with salvia. As he works his tongue in as deeper, Erik pushes back against his searching tongue. He pants harshly, swearing up a storm as he fucks himself on T'Challa’s tongue.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon who requested pining!erik. 
> 
> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to this. I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it.

The chime of the buzzer reverberates throughout the living room. Erik pauses the movie he’s been watching. He feels a surge of joy rush through him as he gets up from where he’s sprawled out on the couch to answer the door. As always, T’Challa is right on time. Erik shakes his head, fondness for his cousin swelling his heart.

The door soundlessly slides open. T’Challa stands on the threshold, a smile already lighting up his face. Erik’s own widen as he says in greeting, “’Sup, T.”

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa says amiably as he pulls Erik into a hug. Erik allows the embrace to linger, lets T’Challa’s scent and warmth engulf him before he has to step away. 

“How you been, man?” Erik asks as he leads the way to the balcony. When possible, he usually prefers eating his meals outdoors. Erik loves Birnin Zana at night. His apartment in the royal wing has an unobstructed view of the city skyline. He loves the hustle and bustle of city life, the distant sound of passing trains and city traffic, loves watching the entire city become illuminated in gleaming lights after twilight. In some ways, it reminds him of his life in the States. Because even though he’s lived in Wakanda for three years, this apartment still doesn’t feel like home. He keeps it sparsely furnished and decorated, sticking to a minimalistic theme.

“Busier than usual,” T’Challa replies as he pulls out a chair and sat at the patio table. 

“Tell me about it,” Erik says as he takes the seat across from him. He lifts the silver covers off their plates to revealing a typical Wakandan meal of jollof rice, mixed vegetables, fried plantains, and barbecued meat. At the center of the table rests a large bowl of hearty stew, a basket of bread, and a bowl of salad. He usually eats less, but when dining with T’Challa and his fast metabolism, Erik gets enough food to feed four people. 

This too has taken a while to get used to. He’s self-sufficient, used to fending for himself, to cooking his own meals. In the beginning, the fear that he might be poisoned had kept him from enjoying Wakandan cuisine. Which is why these weekly dinners had been instituted by T’Challa, to ease Erik’s paranoia. But now it’s become routine, a way to catch up with each other if they were both in Wakanda at the same time. Still, he isn’t used to the fact that as a Prince of Wakanda, his meals would always be catered, prepared outside his sight, that the kitchen in his apartment is just for show. 

Conversation flows smoothly between them as they dig into their meal. T’Challa occasionally gestures wildly with his hands, and Erik’s gaze follows the movements of those long elegant fingers. It’s easy to be lulled by the steady lilting tone of T’Challa’s voice, be mesmerized by the way his mouth shapes words.

T’Challa’s lips curl into a smile.  
Desire and need well up inside him. All Erik wants at that moment is to feel the press of T’Challa’s lips against his, to drink him in, get lost in the feel and taste of his mouth. Erik clenches the hand in his lap into a fist in order to keep from reaching for T’Challa, to give in to the urge to crush their lips together.

He’s only recently become aware of his feelings for T’Challa. There hadn’t been a gradual slide into awareness. It feels like one moment his feelings had been platonic, and the next he’d become overly aware of T’Challa. He’s found himself analyzing the smooth timbre T’Challa’s voice, the feline grace of his gait, the way he smiles with the entirety of his face. He’s still baffled that it has taken so long for the realization to creep up on him.

They’re _friends_. Erik hasn’t really ever had a friend, acquaintances maybe — people he used and discarded when they no longer served a purpose. But he’s never had this: someone he trusts unquestionably. He hadn’t realized he was starved for it, for that connection, until it presented itself in front of him.

T’Challa has fought hard to earn Erik’s trust, his loyalty. While Erik hadn’t trusted his earlier overtures in friendship, he’d been steadfast, genuine in his concern for Erik’s well-being and emotional stability. He’d been unflappable in the face of Erik’s anger and wrath. Because Erik had been angry and spiteful in those first few months. He had wanted to die and resented T’Challa for not allowing him his dying wish. But he had persevered and in the face of T’Challa’s unflinching affection and endless patience, Erik had given in and they’d become friends. And through that friendship, T’Challa had given him purpose when he had been rudderless.

Erik has never had room for love in his life, not when his entire life had centered on vengeance. He’d gone out of his way to squash any budding feelings he had felt for anyone, had been ruthless in the face of achieving his goals. T’Challa and his innate goodness was a blind spot, something he hadn’t accounted for.

When it comes down to it, falling in love with T’Challa has been the most reckless thing he’s ever done. And it should scare him, send him running in the opposite direction. But the more time he spends in his cousin’s presence, the deeper his feelings seem to get. So he’s taken to working himself into the ground, taking every available mission to keep him out of Wakanda.

He can’t go on like this. Erik isn’t one to pine, to be this indecisive. He plans. He plots. He strategizes. He gets what he wants. And what he wants is T’Challa. 

The warm touch of T’Challa’s hand on his wrist, jolts Erik out of his thoughts.

“N’Jadaka, are you feeling well?” T’Challa asks, a crease forming between his brows, concern written all over his face.

Erik could get lost in those eyes, in the feel of T’Challa’s thumb as it caresses his pulse point. T’Challa really has a problem with keeping his hands to himself.

“Yeah,” Erik answers, clearing his throat, “just got lost in thought.”

T’Challa tilts his head, his gaze intense as he examines Erik, “Tell me what has you so distracted.”

It must be the feel of T’Challa’s warm and strong fingers on his skin that has him answering, “Going stir crazy. If I don't go on a mission soon you can’t hold me responsible for my actions.”

T’Challa’s eyes soften into that stupidly fond expression that has the ability to cause Erik’s heart to skip a beat. “Maybe you should visit M’Baku.”

“And have to deal with Mandla?” Erik scoffs, “no thanks. I'm all set, cuz.”

“I do not understand why you two are so antagonistic toward each other,” T’Challa responds, his thumb having moved to massage Erik’s palm.

There’s no way Erik’s about to clue T’Challa in on the reason he’s gone out of his way to avoid any emissary from the Jabari lands. He’s not ashamed of it, but what it all boils down to is that the last time he'd gone into Jabari land, he and Mandla had fooled around. The other man had expected something more out of something Erik had considered no strings attached. Erik had thought they were on the same page. He isn’t looking for commitment, well at least not from Mandla. Needless to say, he’s no longer welcomed on Jabari land and he usually makes himself scarce when either brother visited the Golden City.

“No idea,” Erik answers with a shrug, “could be anything.”

T’Challa looks at him intently, links their fingers together. “I may have a solution to your problem.”

Erik raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

“I have a convention coming up.” T’Challa answers, “Usually, three of the Dora Milaje accompany me. If you are not opposed to playing bodyguard, you can come with me.”

Erik already knows what his answer will be. He’s more than happy to play bodyguard. It isn’t as if T’Challa can't protect himself. “So,” he states with a smirk, “where are we going?”

T’Challa laughs and the sound is intoxicating.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: Can you write about t'challa leaving hickies in Erik's ass cheeks and on his hole?

‘So beautiful,’ T’Challa murmurs as he rubs his rough calloused palms over the swell of Erik’s ass. He teases at Erik’s entrance through the thin fabric of Erik’s boxers, the tip of his thumb rubbing and massaging the tight ring of muscle.

‘Please,’ Erik moans, voice cracking, ‘baby…just fuck me already.’

‘Patience, my love,’ T’Challa says teasingly as he pushes Erik back down so that he’s lying flat on his stomach. He nibbles on one scarred shoulder, making Erik groan a little in response at the feel of his teeth scraping across his skin.

Erik moans at the first touch of T’Challa’s warm wet tongue on the smooth skin at the base of his neck.

T’Challa drags his tongue down, the tip tracing over each vertebra as his mouth moves down the scarred skin of Erik’s back, following the curve of his spine until he reaches the top of Erik’s boxers. He takes the hem between his teeth and tugs it down to reveal Erik’s naked ass. He leans forward to gently nip at an ass cheek.

‘Fuck,’ Erik gasps, pressing his face into the pillow.

T’Challa digs his teeth in harder in response.

Erik pushes his ass back further, wordlessly asking for more bites.

T’Challa laps at the skin, his tongue swirling over the sting right before he presses more bruising kisses to every available surface.

Erik’s breathing grows heavier, muffled whining noises leaving his mouth every time T’Challa’s teeth sinks into his willing flesh.

‘You like that?’ T’Challa growls against the curve of his ass. He licks a line up to the dimples of Erik’s lower back before pulling back to admire his work. Erik’s ass cheeks are littered with marks in the shape of his teeth. He counts their number, their size, the depth of the bruising. His fingers trailing over the firm globes of Erik’s ass, kneading the perfectly rounded cheeks until goosebumps pebble beneath his palms.

‘You know I do,’ Erik replies breathlessly. A quiver runs through his body, his breath shuddering in his lungs as he arches his back up, wordlessly asking for more. His fists squeeze tightly around the handful of sheets clutched between his fingers as T’Challa’s grip on his ass firms, becomes rougher. 

‘N’Jadaka,’ T’Challa groans, his lips gliding over the small of Erik’s back just above his tailbone. ‘I can’t get enough of your beautiful ass.’

T’Challa grip tightens as he spreads him open, a strained moan escapes him as Erik shudders, squeezes the blankets in his fists, leans back into his touch.

‘Prove it,’ Erik says, eyes heavy with desire and need as he stares at T’Challa over his shoulder. ‘Show me how much you love this ass.’

T’Challa groans in response, rubs his hands back over those firm globes. He’s squeezing too hard, knows it will leave bruises shaped in the size of his fingers. He doesn’t care.

T’Challa’s grip is firm and steady as he drags his tongue slowly through the crease. He traces Erik’s entrance with the tip of his tongue, teasingly scrapes the fluttering muscle with his teeth.

‘Fuck!’ Erik pants, rocking against T’Challa’s mouth. He clutches the blankets in tight fistfuls, ‘Oh fuck baby. Don’t stop.’

T’Challa works Erik open with his tongue and fingers, rips short jagged gasps from Erik. He teases, he taunts, pushes Erik ever closer to coming apart on T’Challa’s tongue.


End file.
